


Bajur

by Nanyin



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: F/M, Family Feels, Fluff and Humor, how much sarcasm is too much sarcasm?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:40:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29897130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanyin/pseuds/Nanyin
Summary: Mando'a - Education, the raising and nurturing of children - a wider meaning than just school work, includes preparation for life and survival.
Relationships: Boba Fett/Koska Reeves, Din Djarin & Cara Dune & Grogu | Baby Yoda, Din Djarin/Cara Dune, Leia Organa/Han Solo
Comments: 17
Kudos: 10





	1. Exclusive message

18 ABY – thirteen years after Grogu leaves with Master Skywalker

Costing along the Hydian Way the old pre-Empire space ship, the Òrìşà, pass communication beacons. Turning on the holo pad, multiple popup messages blink ready, tucked below the advertisement of multiple planets, and grab in goes of spaceports a small image captures the interest of the pilot. Hitting the Mythosaur, the screen displays the buffering bar before the blue image fills in displaying the imposing image of the Manda’lor. The message is in Mando’a, the translation converter link doesn’t light.

_This is a message to all Mandalorians scattered throughout the galactic regions. For far too long we Mando'ade have stopped celebrating our strong, noble, and rich warrior heritage. Let it be known, the Festival of Shango will be held on our home planet within the Alaafin of Oyo region at the end of the rainy season. Join me and let us unite in song and celebration. Let us celebrate in the open, showing our pride and principled culture without remorse or apology._

A teal and black leather-clad hand squeezes the broad pilot’s shoulder. “This is the opportunity you were seeking, Ba’Buir.”

* * *

The old Corellian YT-1300f light freighter banks elegantly towards the main landing pad of the Yoruba providence.

“Princess are you sure this is a good idea? I feel like a gatecrasher.” Leia hums as she scans the latest reports, rubbing her extended stomach. Luke places his hand on top of his sister’s, “We were invited, Han. Besides it's Grogu’s time with father.” 

Pressing down on the holo pad authorizing the last of her paperwork, Leia shifts again as the baby tap dances on her bladder. Sighing with a wince, “I think it is great timing, we get to experience the Mandalorian culture for three days.”

Han looks over to his wife in confusion, “I thought this was a seven-day festival?”

Turning his sister’s seat around Luke replies, “It is but we are only allowed to see the first days of celebration and cameration. All other ceremonies are private, clan members only, and recording is not allowed.”

Looking up he spies a soft smile of gratitude on Leia’s face as he messages her ankles and calves.

Crash! 

*Familiar beeps and whistles*

*giggles* 

“Oh no, Master Grogu it isn’t time to… the door opens as the little green menace rides R2D2 into the cockpit, closely trailed by the Solo twins, Jacen and Jaina.

Luke huffs, “Mind your language Artoo!”

* * *

The reluctant Manda’lor, Din D’jarin absent-mindedly listens to Koska the other advisors from the major houses rattle off the many protocols and niceties he needed to comply to when meeting the dignitaries of the Senate all the while walking to the secondary landing area. Fett strides down the ramp of the Slave 1, they clasp forearms in solidarity. Din looks over Boba’s shoulder, sighing Boba replies to the silent question, “Fennec’s back at the palace keeping things in check.”

Releasing Boba’s hand, Din turns to the government-approved official entourage, “Go and enjoy yourselves. I will be fine.”

Reluctantly most of the entourage leaves, leaving the only Koska. Meanly she smirks at Boba “What are you doing here old man?” Boba chuckles, “Little girl, someone has to watch his back. And I don’t trust you younglings to do that.”

Her eyes cut to half-mast and her body strains not to tackle the ‘old man’. She was going to make him pay for that later. Much later behind a closed locked door with lots of floor space.

Ignoring the thinly passive, aggressive bickering they call foreplay Din makes his way to the main landing pad. 

“Hukaat'kama!”

Quickly the trio makes their way to his main goal of the day, retrieve his son. And maybe see Solo’s face when he sees Boba. 

So, what he feelin’ a little mean right now.

* * *

At the opening ceremony, the priestesses of Shango gave a special musical performance praising all the tribe's rulers throughout its history. It was sorrowful as many didn't know their true history. Too many years of hiding and just surviving left many gaps in their education. This was one thing Din swore he would rectify. Ignorance of culture would cause more bickering, strife, and mistrust. He needs all to be on the same page if they were to be a whole society instead of a patchwork of multiple listless tribes. Broken language and customs lead to the weakening of a people. Emperor Palpatine knew what strings to cut to decimate all those who he deemed as potential enemies and Mandalorians are a threat when provoked.

Sitting in his father's lap Grogu couldn't help but coos in delight. The music and fire dancers were nothing like has seen before. The energy of the crowd was intoxicating, awe, joy with an undercurrent of sadness. He taps his father's hands then turns to place his hands on his helmet. "Buir!" Din chuckles he can never get used to his child call out to him. Placing Grogu in his new beskar'gam lined pram, Din begins to explain the ceremony, the colors, sounds, and what the words meant.

As many leave the temporary stands, one family sits listing to their patriarch Alark, Clan of Adedayo. Tragedy and sorrow have lined his brown skin prematurely graying both his beard and hair far too early. Greedily he took in the performance, as it felt the music and dance balm his wary soul. With great abandon, this stoic man gushes of the days worshiping at the Temple of Rolling Thunder and Lighting. The prestige of becoming a part of the inner staff and performers. How his Ba'Buir was a part of the core performs in the fire dance and his Ba'vodu was a part of the choirs.

It is a good day for the Manda’o lost songs of their Maker was sung with tearful joy and renewed reverence.


	2. a heartfelt massage recieved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another message received and it is about time.

From the enclosed hanging terrace, Boba cleans his Amban with meticulous precision. Not bothering with a robe, his scared body is on full display. An aged warrior with more battle scars than most warriors could or would survive takes in the stillness of the early morning. The filtered air tickles his unattended rug burns and scratch marks.

He reflects where is in this chaotic mess called life. At this moment he is the ruling Lord of his region of space, and a trusted ally to the Manda’lor.

With enough pissed-off factions. Either can change at any moment.

Such is life although, not a bad position, considering his deeds. He of all people understood the great Maker forced balance. The Manda'o doesn't believe in a gentle, encouraging Marker. We enter this life in violence and destined to leave it the same way. It seems his partial payback was trapped within the stomach of a Sarlacc. Deep within the digestive tract, time has no meaning as the pain of the acid eating through his clothing and skin blinded all his senses. Triggering continuous nightmares and torture. Days blurred but there was an unexpected ally in his desperate situation. The partially digested Jetti, Susejo helped him and another food source, Dengar of the Tatooine Bounty Hunters Guild, escape. Simply, there wasn’t enough of him to survive but he wouldn't allow another to meet the same slow agonizing death. By shielding Boba’s mind from the full extent of pain, Boba activated his jet pack pulling both him and Dengar out.

The Jawas found them taking all salvageable equipment, off of what anyone would deem as corpses. A group of Tuskians found them and over the year healed their wounds. Only to ask for assistance in some trading.

He didn’t fault the Jawas, he will need to renegotiate with Tuskians in their favor. Now that he had the means, he will need to return to that pit and throw enough incineration grenades to level a town.

The Jetti burn their dead it was only fitting.

The image causes him to smirk as cleans his gift from the Leader of all tribes only wearing a scrape of cloth.

_“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to help me maintain my blaster?”_

Koska replaces the scope with a hot cup of café with crystalized sweet cinnamon.

_“Have you placed the chamber? Last time cartridge seemed a little tight.”_

They work in tandem through all his weapons and begin on her blades. He sips the hot beverage grunting with appreciation.

Tap, scratch, tap, scratch, tap

Koska looks up at the source of the noise, thinking it was the neighbor’s Loth-cat, Petals (snort) wanting in to get away from the grubby paws of the terror disguised as a toddler, Ghes. Instead, of cream and red fur and yellow eyes, she sees grey and black with red eyes.

_“Open the pet door, Kos, they’re a delivery system.”_ Interest peeked she get up to open the small door.

The leader makes a throaty inquisitive chrriil, before entering.

_“It’s alright Pitch.”_ , Boba beckons Koska to his side, _“She is trustworthy.”_ Cautiously the animal enters bounding to Boba. Carefully picking up, Boba presents the leader. “This is Pitch, the matriarch of her mob. If you see any creature like this, tread carefully they may look cute but they are murderous. They secrete a neuro-toxin as a defense mechanism. Enough of it will paralyze your lungs.”

After a few scratches and belly rubs Pitch makes another chirping sound, five others join her all vying for pets. They line up for Boba to take the parcels out of their harnesses.

_“Spark, Pitch’s mate. Firstborn Taz, second-born Jot, third born Flick, fourth Jet, and lastly Slate. Uhm, now why are you here Slate?”_

_“Delivering your first courting gift.”_ Shyly Koska extracts a small bundle and places it in the hand that was wrapped around her waist. Slate scrambles up the table chirping as he bounced at Koska she was his favorite type to deliver to, one with yummy treats. To his delight, it’s sweet red seeds.

It’s not often can someone stun the paranoid, fierce warrior, Koska Reeves seem to do that regularly when they are together. Opening the parcel, Boba finds a newly braided ripcord laced with shiny metal. _“Is this?”_

Nervously she says nothing as she feeds the lava meerkats, murmuring praise on their stealth and cunning.

_“I expect you to come back to me intact, Boba Fett.”_

Boba leans into the chair, swallowing as the meaning of her words and gift settle in his mind and cold, dark heart.

_“Open yours, my little one. Tell me if they are worthy.”_

The mob of meerkats goes still as she takes the parcels from the remaining six satchels.

The first unwrapped satchel was jewelry. Not some bulky rings, necklaces, or bracelets. She would have punched him for the weak thoughtless gift. Instead, she found left her breathless. Slowly she examined the most delicate looking black fingertip armor rings, each had enough curl over her gloves to gouge into soft flesh without impeding her fists. The rest were sets blades and knives of various sizes with perfect balance and adorned with his symbol of a green circle with the red teardrop, basic symbol F, and white five moon spear.

Sniffing she turns, finding him on his knees her powerful, crazed calm warrior. Such a contradiction her man is. Gently cupping his face, she kisses as tears flow down her cheeks mirroring his stance. It is symbolic supplication she gladly takes and gives back in reverence.

_“Never has one given me such a thoughtful gift.”_

_“I would be remiss if I didn’t protect what I deem is mine. And are you mine, Koksa Reeves? Do you take me as yours?”_

_“I take you, Boba Fett, let the universe sigh in relief someone is crazy enough to want to keep you. Under the assumption, I will be your voice of reason.”_

_“Will you help heal me Boba when the fighting is done?”_

_“I will erase the one who dares harm you and tend to your wounds. May they be of flesh or the mind.”_

Koska giggles, that was such a Boba reply.

Koska grimace for a moment then pushes forward, _“Will you listen when I do give counsel?”_

_“I will consider it and counter if necessary. Will you listen to my words?”_

She smiles smugly but with heart, _“I will consider it and counter if necessary. I will lend my blade to your cause and tend to your wounds. May they be of flesh or the mind.”_

Both caress the back of the other’s neck as they settle in a Keldabe kiss. Reaching they clasp their other hands placing it over their hearts.

Breathing in sync, until their hearts share the same rhythm, voicing their words to seal their betrothal, “Haat, ijaa, haa'it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics - speaking in Manda'o
> 
> Yep, this was for the Boska fans, and we don't have enough out there. I don't care if it's not canon. We have fanfiction to correct that oversight. (cheesy grin)


	3. Unintended message, someone's gonna get in trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a tease but we need some Leia and Han love here

Han and Leia although not blending with the locals they were able to indulge in food and sights they have never experienced. 

Many vendors gave extra helpings, all in jest for the extra mouth Leia needed to feed. Han has never seen Leia blush under the complements of strong females make strong children and they are the future.

Some recognized her as the Princess of Alderaan, more recognized the hairpin with the Alderaan symbol. One complimented the craftsmanship as Leia sat for a moment.

The back of his hair rose as he turned to his wife, a menacing woman with the face of an angel and known tear drop stood an armlength in front of Leia. 

Her hair gathered in a similar style Leia has worn, a crown braid he recalled. By Alderaanian standard it called to the warriors of old. Kohl-lined, harden black eyes were balanced by full wet-looking coral lips. Clad in a long black jacket with an open emerald green blouse, offset by a black lace vest over tapered black pants tucked with low heeled boots. Very feminine with the harsh bite discipline. 

Standing proud, this tank of a female screamed military officer. Not the kind that stood behind the war desk but forged in battle. It would be a safe bet she has many hidden weapons. 

Instantly Han thought of at least six different escape routes. 

Lowly this woman purrs in the southern Alderannian dialect, as she raises a clenched fist over her heart nods to Leia then looks over to him,  _ “No protective squad Solo? I’m disappointed.” _ Taking Leia’s six. 

Ok, what the Kark? He understood enough to be pissed.

“Thank you, Marshal Dune my husband is only fluent in the northern dialect.”

Slightly bending at the waist, in a stoic response, “My apologies, milady. Sir.” Then saucily winks at his wife.

Oh hell, Leia is going to kill him. 

Two passing Mandalorian guards, preen as they nod to the Marshal. 

Yep, he was going to hell.

**Author's Note:**

> “Hukaat'kama! - rough translation: what my back. Literal: watch my six.  
> Buir - Father/Mother  
> Ba'Buir - Grandfather/Grandmother  
> Ba'vodu - Uncle/Aunt
> 
> An yeah I took some liberty with the timeline. so what?! Writer's prerogative.


End file.
